


Red Velvet, Vanilla, Chocolate In My Life

by StarSpangledBucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A smidge of sour, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baked Goods, Baker!Jack, Barebacking, Cooking, Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Mechanic/Boxer!Brock, Meet-Ugly, Non-Penetrative Sex, Reminiscing, Riding, Sexual Tension, Sharing Clothes, Spicy, Sweet, Thunderstorms, Wine, kind of, shameless flirting, taste testing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/pseuds/StarSpangledBucky
Summary: Jack's not a big believer in fate, not with his love life, at least. But when Brock Rumlow stumbles into his bakery during a freak thunderstorm, something tells him that he might just have to start believing in it.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Red Velvet, Vanilla, Chocolate In My Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> My work for the Eat, Drink and Make Merry 2020 exchange for my lovely friend, Candace. I hope you like it! I know you love baker Jack a lot, so I decided to go with that when I read over your list.
> 
> The title is from Cake By The Ocean by DNCE (of course) 
> 
> Love you!

* * *

Jack's shoulder pops satisfyingly as he stretches his arms above his head then bends his back slightly. After another busy day at the bakery, he's in desperate need of a warm bath to soothe his aches, and maybe a good book to read afterward. Jack hadn't had his usual staff on today, Bucky called in sick, so it was only himself and Sam who were rushed off their feet for hours. Sam left early to go on a date with Riley, which was when a lot of customers decided to come in. But Jack made it work, he's been running the bakery for three years and has mastered the art of working in rush hours. 

With a tired sigh, Jack grabs a cloth and spray to start wiping down the tables, as well as the countertops. He hums along to the music playing out of the speakers while he moves around, cleaning each surface thoroughly, before turning the chairs upside down on the tables. It's tedious work, but Jack won't allow himself to have a filthy bakery, not after the condition it was left in. Jack's put his own personal touches into it over the years, now it feels more like his own place rather than the place where he studied after college, despite its horrible state. He'll never forget the day he finally had enough money to buy the business or the feeling of the keys being placed in his hand. Jack's proud of himself for what he's accomplished with _'Rolling Scones'._

Suddenly, the door swings open with a heavy thud, causing the bell at the top of it to ring violently. Someone ran inside the store, drenched from head to toe, which was when Jack noticed that the storm had arrived quicker than expected. The rain was pouring down in waves and the thunder that was in the distance, now sounds like it is right above them. Jack's gaze moves to the man, who is bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing as if he'd just run a marathon. He stays motionless behind the counter, the cloth a mere afterthought on top of the display cabinet he was cleaning. He's accustomed to the odd straggler dropping by after he's closed, but this guy doesn't look like he came to buy sweets, plus he's dropping all over Jack's clean floor. 

"Uh, hi?" Jack speaks up. 

The man flinches and stands bolt upright. 

"Jesus christ!" 

Jack can't help but snort.

"Yes, my son?" he chides. 

He gets a laugh in return. 

"Funny guy are ya?" 

Jack shrugs. 

"I can be." 

He remains behind the counter, watching as the man pushes the hood down on his sweater, revealing his face. Jack observes him intently, he looks around Jack's age or maybe a few years older, but he's quite easy on the eyes. He's running his fingers through damp hair which is mostly gathered at the top and faded on the sides, flicking it back like he's on an ad for hair products. When he looks over at him, Jack's met with bright, hazel eyes framed with a few laugh lines at the corners, which Jack finds bizarrely attractive. Although, it's the slight twang in his accent that stands out from his regular customers, he's from Brooklyn, just like Jack. 

"You're from Brooklyn uh…?"

"Brock. And yeah, that obvious huh?" he replies

"A little," Jack says. 

"Ain't so subtle yourself, pal," Brock states. 

Jack smirks. 

"What brings you to Boston?" he asks.

Brock makes a face at him. 

"I live here." 

Jack wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him whole as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before he rubs the back of his neck, which he does when he's nervous. 

"Right, sorry. I just...haven't seen you around these parts before." 

Brock's staring at him with an amused look on his face, but it softens shortly after. 

"Well, I don't usually run into a bakery at night, during a storm." 

His humour is palpable and Jack kind of likes him already, he's met an array of people during his life, yet somehow Brock stands out from the rest of them. 

"What are you doin' out at this time anyway?" 

"Nighttime jog. I took a different route tonight, guess that was a bad idea," Brock huffs.

Before Jack can reply, a loud boom of thunder and flash of lightning trips the electricity and plunges the room into darkness. 

"Well... _fuck_ ," Jack curses.

Brock chuckles.

"Please tell me you've got a generator or somethin' as a backup here at...what's this place called?" he inquires. 

Jack crouches down on his haunches, blindly searching for the torch under the counter. 

" _Rolling Scones,"_ he utters.

Brock barks a laugh. 

"Is that a Rolling Stones pun?" 

Jack smiles.

"Sure is." 

Brock's noise of approval makes him smile even wider. 

"Very creative." 

Jack sighs. 

"I can't find the torch. Stay where you are, I'll be back." 

He's fairly familiar with what is situated around the back room, as he guides himself past the ovens and then the fridges. The door that leads out to Jack's house swings open with a bang, allowing rain to blow in before Jack hurries over to slam it shut. He breathes a sigh of relief because the last thing he needs right now is for any of his equipment to get wet, that'd throw a spanner into the works. 

"Hey, you okay in there, man?" Brock calls out.

"Fine!" Jack calls back. 

After walking a few steps to the right, Jack finds the generator and turns it on, hoping that it'll somehow splutter to life. He walks back into the front of the shop, then maneuvers his way around the counter, his hand brushing across the surface to find his way. 

"It'll take a minute to kick in," he says.

Brock exhales deeply. 

"Okay, well where are you?" he questions.

"Over by the counter. Just...I'll find you." 

Jack starts to walk towards a booth that was closest to Brock, only to walk into the booth and knock his hip on the table. 

" _Ow,_ shit. Brock, did you move?" 

Out of nowhere, a hand touches his arm, causing Jack to yell in surprise. Yet as he steps back, he walks right into a puddle left over from Brock's drenched clothes, which ultimately throws him off balance. His shoes are slippery on the soles and Jack panics for a split second before he reaches out for Brock. Jack's fingers catch the hem of Brock's sweater when he falls back, dragging Brock down with him. They both land on the floor, with Brock on top of Jack, who elicits a punched out puff of air from the impact. 

At that moment, the generator kicks in and Jack gets a _much_ closer look at Brock now. Brock's a lot better looking up close, well, that's just Jack's thoughts being tame. He actually thinks Brock's stupidly handsome, if that's even a thing and his eyes are _stunning_ now that he's staring directly into them. Brock looks as if he's going through a similar crisis until a smirk graces his face, which has them both breaking out into fits of laughter that echoes around them. 

"This isn't how I normally go 'bout meetin' guys." 

Jack grins up at him. 

"Oh really? How do you normally meet 'em?" 

Brock smirks smugly.

"At speed date nights." 

Jack's entire body shakes with laughter again.

"I never pegged you as a guy who went for that shit," he teases.

"Then you don't know me at all, big guy," Brock whispers, while he leans in close to Jack. 

Brock's breath ghosts over his lips and Jack swallows thickly, then averts his eyes from him. 

"We should maybe get off the floor," Jack murmurs. 

He waits for Brock to push himself off of his lap before he sits up straight with a groan. 

"I didn't hurt you did I?" he asks.

Jack flashes him a small smile.

"I'm fine, a little winded if anything." 

Brock seems unconvinced but doesn't say anything about it as he looks around the bakery. 

"So uh...you think I could stick around 'til this clears up?" 

The storm is still raging outside when Jack glances out the window, he knows that it's unlikely that it'll clear anytime soon. He would feel like an absolute asshole if he told Brock to leave or to have him camp out on one of the booths, as they aren't exactly ideal for sleeping. There's a spare room in his house and Brock could really do with some warm, clean clothes, perhaps some food as well. Brock looks a bit like a drenched rat now, his hair mused on top of his head, along with the way his body is starting to shiver too. 

"I don't think this'll clear any time soon." 

Brock groans. 

"Shit." 

"Listen, I've got a spare room at my house. It's up a short path from here, I'd hate for you to go back out there when it's like this. I think I've got clothes that'll fit you and I've got food too," Jack offers. 

Brock nods.

"Sure, I can't think of a better solution than that, so thanks big guy," he says, with a kind smile. 

Jack grins and holds out his hand. 

"I'm Jack, by the way. I just realised I didn't tell you my name," he snorts. 

Brock's hand is warm but rough when he clasps Jack's, which makes him assume that Brock may be a mechanic, or in an occupation that lets him get his hands dirty. 

"Nice to meet ya then, Jack," Brock chimes.

"Alright, let me just lock up and we can go." 

Jack busies himself getting the door locked and doing a final sweep of the tables, as well as cleaning the water from Brock's wet clothes. He heads behind the counter, packs up the leftover goods that didn't sell, then gestures for Brock to follow. Jack didn't think the rain could get any worse, but when he opens the backdoor it's like someone is pouring buckets down from the sky. Brock laughs from beside him, clearly amused by the entire situation, although Jack's mind is distracted by how close Brock is huddling to his side. 

"You ready to run, Jackie?" 

Jack peers out the door. 

"I should've brought my umbrella." 

Brock snorts.

"Where's the fun in that?" 

"You just wanna' see me get soaked," Jack retorts.

A grin breaks out across Brock's face as he winks at Jack, then grabs his hand tightly and drags him out into the rain. 

"C'mon!" he yells.

They both sprint through the rain like their lives depend on it, and while Jack's clothes become soaked within seconds, he's too focused on the grip Brock's got on his hand. Jack's tired brain is giving him too many thoughts about it, he sort of doesn't want to let go. Which is why he feels a stab of disappointment once they reach the porch and Brock lets go of his hand. He pushes that aside in favour of getting the door unlocked, before ushering Brock inside, with his hand low on his back. 

"Well if you ever needed a quick shower, that's one way to do it," Brock says, while Jack places the sweets box to the side and locks the door. 

Jack turns back to face him, only to see Brock shrug his sweater off, revealing his toned arms covered in tattoos. Brock's hand scrapes through his hair, pushing droplets of water off which fall onto his neck, then slide down his skin illuminated by the hallway light. He can feel his heart rate pick up slightly, eyes following the movement of the droplets until he wills himself to look away. But when he looks up Brock's staring at him too, with a flicker of heat in his eyes, and a devilish smirk starting to slowly form. 

"Alright, bud?" 

Jack's hand subconsciously comes up to touch Brock's hair, as he threads his fingers through it, causing Brock's eyes to darken. Brock tosses his sweater to the side and draws Jack down until their lips are a breath apart, with his hand cupped comfortably around the back of Jack's neck. Brock's lips press into Jack's in a heated kiss, which Jack reciprocates immediately, while he pulls Brock in closer to his body. He shamelessly runs his hands down Brock's back to his ass, squeezing both cheeks in his hands and making Brock sigh against his lips. Brock tucks his free hand under Jack's shirt, skims his fingers across bare skin, then stops abruptly. He pulls away with a guilty look on his face, the disappointment Jack felt before weasels its way back in, leaving Jack not just really _fucking_ turned on but confused as well. 

"I-" Jack breathes. 

Brock shakes his head. 

"I'm sorry, that was- _shit_...I shouldn't have done that." 

Jack frowns.

"It's alright…" he mutters.

"Is it though?" Brock questions, his shoulders tensing.

The frown softens across Jack's brow.

"Is it wrong if I thought about kissing you when you stepped into my bakery?" 

Brock's shoulders relax. 

"That quick huh?" he hums. 

"Have you seen yourself?" 

Brock raises an eyebrow. 

"Have _you_ seen yourself, Jack?" 

Jack grins lopsidedly. 

"There's more to me than how I look," he says, proudly. 

"You smug fucker." 

There's a teasing tone to Brock's voice before Jack notices the smile fade from his face, like he's overthinking the situation somewhat. 

"Are you hungry?" Jack asks, in an attempt to distract them both. 

"Starving," Brock replies. 

"Great. Uh, my room is upstairs on the right. There's an en-suite with towels there for you to dry off and just grab whatever out of my closet, I'm sure there's something there that'll fit." 

Brock smiles gratefully. 

"Thanks, Jackie," he chimes. 

They part ways at the stairs, as Jack meanders into the kitchen and places treats down on the counter with a dull thud. He scrubs his hands down his face, letting out a loud sigh, before dropping his hands to his hips. His lips still tingle a little from Brock kissing him, but Jack pushes the memory away, there's no point in him getting attached. Brock's going to stay the night and that'll be the and of it, no matter how much Jack wishes it were different. Jack's not a big believer in fate, not with his love life at least, however, a part of him feels like he and Brock were meant to meet. Maybe the situation could be a bit better than a freak thunderstorm, yet perhaps it was destined to be that way. 

Jack's attention ventures to food and drinks to prepare, which he'll have to be quick about because he's not sure how long the power will hold out. He pulls multiple ingredients out of the fridge to make a dish his grandpa taught him, what with the sentimental value of it all. Jack wants Brock to experience the talent his grandpa had, along with his love of good food, cooked with love. A shaky smile pulls at Jack's mouth, while he wipes a stray tear away, then focuses on cutting the vegetables. Onions probably weren't the best thing to start with, as more tears well in his eyes, with a bit of a sting to them too. 

"Onions got you bad huh?" 

Jack chokes out a laugh upon hearing Brock's voice filter into the room. 

"A little." 

He steals a glance at Brock, stopping short when he sees him leaning against the door frame. Brock's wearing _his_ favourite sweater, it's far too big, but he looks comfortable and Jack can't help looking at him fondly. 

"You look warm," he comments. 

Brock walks further into the kitchen before he sidles up to Jack's side and peers into the frying pan on the stove. 

"I am, it's a really nice sweater." 

"It's my favourite sweater," Jack replies.

"Oh shit, I can-uh...find somethin' else if you want?" 

Jack shakes his head and places his hand on Brock's forearm. 

"Don't. It looks really good on you." 

Brock averts his gaze, which causes Jack to smile, as he thinks he spots a light flush on Brock's cheeks. He pushes a lock of Brock's hair away from his forehead, while Brock leans into him, his own hand coming up to brush over Jack's. 

"So…" Brock says as he bumps Jack's hip with his own. "What are you makin'?" he asks. 

Jack tosses the remaining pieces of onion into the frying pan and starts to work on cutting up slices of carrot. 

"It's a soup my grandpa used to make for my family, especially during weather like this." 

Brock smiles. 

"Sounds like you got your love for cooking from him." 

Jack nods curtly. 

"Yeah, he was the one who taught me how to bake too. I owe him everything." 

Brock's arm circles his waist loosely.

"He's not with you anymore?" 

Jack's hands slow on cutting the vegetables, before he shakes his head slowly. 

"No. I wish he was here to see the bakery," he sighs. 

"I bet he's proud, Jack," Brock soothes.

"I know for sure he'd still be tellin' me off for doing somethin' a little bit different to how he taught me," Jack laughs wetly. 

Brock elicits a chuckle.

"Sounds like my nonna. I try to add somethin' different to meals and gets so pissed at me. She's very traditional with her food," he says. 

"Is she still…?" 

Brock flashes him a sad smile.

"She is, but she's in Italy. I miss her, every day." 

Jack tilts his head to grin at Brock. 

"She sounds like a great woman." 

He grins wider upon seeing Brock's eyes light up talking about his grandmother. 

"You'd love her and I think she'd love meeting you too." 

"Slow down sailor, take me to dinner first," Jack chides, playfully. 

Something hangs in the air between them, as Brock stares at him with what could be taken as _yearning_ , but Jack doesn't want to be hopeful. He is still holding onto the idea of _fate_ being a thing; whether it's good or bad fate is an entirely different matter. So he clears his throat and continues to chop vegetables, before looking around the room for something that Brock can do. 

"Hey, could you do me a favour?" he says. 

"Sure," Brock replies. 

"Can you start making a broth and add some chicken into it. I cut up some chicken, it's in the fridge. Just cook it on medium heat, then I can add the vegetables and we can let it cook until it's ready." 

Brock moves away from him, yet lets his fingers linger on Jack's waist for a moment, which sends a shiver up Jack's spine. It's the good kind, the kind that still stays behind even when Brock's no longer touching him. He breathes out deeply, then chances a glance over his shoulder, where Brock is bent over in front of the fridge, sweatpants tight across his muscular thighs. Jack shakes his head and averts his eyes, trying his best to hold back a smirk that fights its way onto his face. He bites at his bottom lip subconsciously, before focusing back on the task at hand, the soup will be ruined if he burns the vegetables. They're simmering away nicely, but he only needs them to soften up a little so that it adds depth to the soup. 

After tossing in some carrot, leek, and some cubes of potato, Jack works on cleaning up the scraps. He places them in a bag to throw into the compost later, there's no chance that he's going to waste them, plus the garden will thrive off of it. Jack cleans the chopping board and the knife, before he sets them aside to dry, then turns to Brock. He's still busy keeping his eye on the broth, allowing Jack to sneak away from the kitchen and disappear into the basement. It's not a creepy basement, thankfully, Jack's furnished and decorated it since buying the house. Now it's sort of like a game room, equipped with a bar, air hockey table and two wine fridges. 

Although, Jack's second-guessing his actions now. _Is he being too forward? Will this look too much like a 'wine and dine' situation?_ Jack sighs and stares into the fridges, his hands resting on his hips as he goes over his choices. If Bucky were here he'd be laughing at him right now, telling him not to overthink it, which is _exactly_ what he's doing. _It doesn't have to be this complicated, it's only dinner_ he thinks, to himself. Jack pulls a Reisling off the rack, glances at the label, and realises it's the bottle his father sent him from Poland. He said to keep it for special occasions, but Jack's never had a special occasion lately to actually make use of it. 

"Fuck it." 

He shuts the fridge door and ventures back upstairs, hoping Brock didn't notice that he was gone. Luckily, he finds Brock down on his haunches, talking softly to Jack's cat who he appears to be utterly smitten by. 

"Živa decided to make herself known then," he interrupts. 

Brock smiles up at him. 

"What a pretty name for a cute cat," he gushes. 

Jack huffs out a chuckle. 

"She's got you wrapped around her little paw." 

Živa meows while winding her way around Brock's legs before she nudges his hand. 

"Aww, c'mon Jack, you can't resist that cute face." 

Jack sighs.

"I guess not." 

Eventually, Brock pushes himself back up on his feet and drops his gaze to the bottle in Jack's hand. 

"Oh. Celebratin' somethin'?" 

"No, I was gonna' ask if you wanted a drink while we wait for the soup to cook. That is if you even like wine? Or drink at all…" Jack utters. 

"Jack..." Brock chortles.

He approaches him then plucks the bottle from Jack's hand, all while staring up at him with an enamored expression. 

"I love wine," he admits. 

Jack smirks indulgently. 

"It's a really expensive bottle," he confesses. 

Brock's eyes flicker to the label, his tongue sticking out a little as he studies it before he hands the bottle back to Jack. 

"Alright. Wine me, Jackie boy." 

Jack shakes his head and laughs. 

"Do you normally throw out dumb, cliche lines or are you just tryin' to impress me?" 

Brock shrugs languidly. 

"Tryin' to make ya laugh, and clearly it's workin'." 

Jack hums then turns away to grab two wine glasses from the cupboard above the counter. 

"So tell me, what do you do for a living?" Jack questions. 

"I'm a mechanic," Brock replies.

 _Nailed it_ Jack says to himself, as he thinks back to the roughness of Brock's hands on his. 

"But I'm also a boxer," he adds. 

Jack looks at Brock curiously.

"Oh?" he says. 

It's then he notices Brock aimlessly rubbing his thumb over some scars on his right hand before he slams his eyes over the ones on Brock's left hand too. 

"Used to bare-knuckle fight when my brothers and I were twenty. Mom would yell at me for it, but we always went back for more. Then I turned to MMA. Friday and Saturday nights I do fights." 

Jack slides a glass over to Brock, who reaches for it, but not before Jack takes his hand to look closely at the scars. Brock swallows thickly and watches Jack intently, as his thumb runs over a scar that goes from his thumb to his wrist. 

"And this one?" 

Brock takes a sip of his wine, savouring the rich taste that explodes on his tongue. 

"Accident at work. Kinda' lucky to still have feelin' there, almost lost it." 

Jack nods and lets Brock hand fall while grabbing his own glass. 

"You're lucky for sure." 

"What 'bout you?" Brock speaks up.

His knuckles lightly brush over the scar on Jack's chin, which causes him to inhale sharply. 

"Ah, I just fell out of a tree when I was sixteen," Jack murmurs. 

Brock snorts. 

"Seriously?" he drawls.

Jack grins. 

"Honest. Lost my footin' and fell. Smacked my chin on a thick branch on the way down," he explains. 

"I can't even picture you without it, it'd be strange." 

Jack grins wider and rubs his hand over his stubbly chin. 

"Flatterer." 

Brock winks at him while downing another sip of wine.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" 

Jack leans against the counter but doesn't take his eyes off of Brock. 

"Go ahead." 

"Do you think we were meant to meet?" Brock asks, without hesitation. 

"I-" Jack pauses and tries to hold back a laugh. "...it's like you're readin' my mind or somethin,'," he adds. 

"What do you mean?" he says.

"I was kind of thinkin' the same thing. Maybe not in this circumstance, but I'm sure we were meant to meet either way." 

Brock nudges him with his elbow. 

"Oh c'mon, you've got to admit, the runnin' for shelter in a bakery and us slippin' on the floor was a great way to meet." 

Jack barks a laugh. 

"Sure, talk about a bit of a meet-ugly situation." 

Brock looks Jack up and down.

"Worth it." 

Jack's heart races rapidly. He's felt attraction towards plenty of other people in the past, but it's never been as strong as it is now, and Brock knows exactly _what_ to say to pique Jack's interest. He can't stop thinking about when Brock kissed him earlier, the feel of his lips still fresh in his mind. His skin feels hot just standing _near_ Brock, it's like he's somehow magnetic, so much so that Jack's five seconds away from finishing what they started. 

Yet, for some reason, he refrains and searches for another distraction, because the last thing he wants to do is corner Brock. It's possible that this could be showing on his face, going by the way Brock's watching him over the top of his wine glass. He pushes away from the counter, deciding to move over to the stove to check on the soup, which he knows is fine and not ready for a good few minutes. But if he stays by Brock's side, he's going to give in, he can tell that much. 

"Jack," Brock drawls, as he places his wine down. 

He feels Brock's hand rest on his upper back, then slides down slowly, but he focuses on stirring the soup.

"Do you want to try some?" he offers.

Brock stills his hand. 

"Yeah," he mumbles. 

Jack holds the spoon out before Brock tastes the soup and draws his bottom lip in to catch a bit that drips out. _That_ alone catches Jack off guard, as his dick twitches with interest and the spoon clatters back into the pot. He lets out a noise that's something between a groan and a growl before he gently grabs the back of Brock's neck and yanks him forward. Their mouths crash together roughly, with Jack wasting no time swiping his tongue over Brock's bottom lip and pushing it inside. Brock moans as he's backed up to the counter, hips hitting the marble which he pays no mind to, in favour of putting his hands to good use. Jack chokes on a gasp when Brock's hand dips past his waistband then palms his dick with a slight bit of pressure. 

" _Fuck_." 

Brock grins against his lips. 

"Good?" 

Jack's hips roll forward in response. 

"Does that answer your question." 

Brock hums low in his throat. 

"Perfectly." 

Jack kisses him again, lazily stroking his tongue over Brock's, before he pulls away. He dips his head and starts trailing kisses down Brock's neck, who tilts his head back, giving Jack better access. His hands press into Brock's hips, pinning him against the counter while he continues to work down Brock's flushed skin. 

"Don't stop," Jack grunts. 

"I have to-" Brock pauses and slides his hand out of Jack's pants. 

He pulls back abruptly before he grabs the front of Jack's pants and works the zipper open. Jack's boxers go with them, pooling around his ankles with a soft _thud_ , as Jack buries his face into Brock's neck. He breathes hotly against Brock's skin, his hands falling on either side of the counter and gripping until his knuckles go white. Brock's pressed into the counter as far as he can be, but he manages to get the sweatpants he borrowed from Jack down over his hips. Jack notices that Brock's hasn't been wearing anything _but_ those sweatpants, before a groan escapes and a wave of pure _want_ courses up his spine. 

"We don't have much time," he warns.

Brock leans up to bite Jack's lip softly.

"Stop talkin' and we'll get somewhere," he breathes out. 

Jack huffs out a breath, sounding somewhat amused before he rests his forehead on Brock's. 

"Sorry." 

Brock smiles briefly, coaxes Jack into another kiss and wraps his hand around both of their dicks. Jack sighs into it as he brings a hand up to squeeze Brock's hip, his thumb caresses over the dip in it, causing Brock to become completely pliant. Each stroke of his hand has Jack's hips jerking slightly, lips parted around a breathy exhale before he pushes for more. He bites down on the junction between Brock's neck and shoulder and slips his hand under Brock's sweater to tweak a nipple between his fingers. 

" _Ah_ , fuckin' hell, _Jack._ " 

The knot in Jack's stomach tightens at the hoarseness in Brock's voice, it's all been building up to this, the need and the release. Jack's patience _snaps,_ he needs to be so much closer, he wants…

"Turn around." 

He's surprised at the shakiness in his voice, the way it seems to rumble from deep in his throat. His mind is foggy but he's aware, he knows how to get them both where they want to be. Brock stares back at him, the heat in his eyes burning as much as the flush on his cheeks, that travels down to his neck as well. _He's_ _beautiful_ Jack thinks, as he reaches out to grasp Brock's shoulders. Jack turns Brock so his back is to him, then runs his hands down Brock's arms to his wrist, before he leans in close to his ear. 

"Keep them there," he whispers.

Brock lowers his head and nods. 

"Quit teasin' big guy."

Jack shoves the sweater up to expose Brock's lower back, before he cups Brock's ass firmly and kneads his hands into it. It's almost comical, kneading Brock's cheeks like they're freshly made dough. His hands are _especially_ good for that, yet it must be doing the trick, given that Brock's rocking his hips back into the grind of Jack's hands. He bites down on his bottom lip through a moan when Jack slides his dick between his ass cheeks, but his hands stay strongly planted on the counter. The tip of his dick barely catches on Brock's rim, sending a jolt up Brock's spine and making his toes curl. 

His head falls between Brock's shoulder blades as he starts rolling his hips forward, the pace gradual but punishing. He can sense Brock wants him to speed it up, to throw them over that edge they want so desperately. It would be an exciting experience to get to tease him more; if they'd only had more time. As unfortunate as it was, Jack knows he's not going to last much longer, something about Brock is making him lose himself. Brock's like the kind of temptation he gets when baking, the kind where he wants to indulge, only on an entirely different level. 

The thoughts swirl in his head and Jack picks up the pace easily, hips smacking against Brock's skin, allowing the sounds to reverberate in the room. Brock glances over his shoulder at him, his eyes glazed and bottom lip swollen from biting on it. Jack swears under his breath then surges forward to kiss him fiercely, whilst pressing his body down on Brock's back. Brock's hips are flush against the counter, his hand trapped from where he'd gotten it back around his dick. There's precum leaking from the tip which he uses to slick his dick up as much as possible, the delicious glide of it punching a moan out of him. 

Jack watches on in amazement, throat bobbing and his breaths coming out in harsh pants. He clenches his jaw with a grunt when Brock's cheeks squeeze around his dick, amping up the pressure pooling in his core. He's so _fucking_ close despite how he wants to drag this out for as long as possible. Brock must feel it too, going by how the stroke of his hand quickens around his own dick, even if the angle is awkward. It's a blissful pleasure for them both, growing and _growing,_ until eventually it crashes into them hard. 

" _Oh fuck!_ " Jack shouts.

Brock cries out with Jack's name on his lips, thighs shaking as he falls forward. His elbow bumps the edge of the wine glass he left on the counter, sending it toppling over. It doesn't smash, thankfully, but the contents remaining in it spill into the sink. Neither notices, with Jack too focused on the white strips of his cum painting Brock's back, before he stills above him. 

"Holy shit," Brock pants. 

Jack hovers over Brock and leans down to press a kiss on the nape of his neck. 

"That was…" he trails off, as he runs his hand down Brock's side. 

Brock grins then leans up on his elbows, his head turned to the side slightly. 

"Pretty fuckin' hot if you ask me," he says. 

Jack kisses him chastely before pushing himself away. 

"Stay there, I'll clean your back." 

He pulls his pants back up and searches for a washcloth in one of the drawers while Brock keeps a firm hold on the hem of the sweater. Jack dampens the cloth then stands behind Brock, as he rubs his back clean, before he tosses it into a hamper sitting near the laundry door. Brock gets Jack's borrowed sweatpants back up over his hips, lets the sweater fall down and exhales a content sigh. Jack takes hold of his wrist, before drawing him in close for another kiss, his tongue lazily gliding over Brock's. 

"Can't believe that just happened in my kitchen." 

Brock laughs breathily.

"We should drink to that, new experiences." 

"We could if someone hadn't spilled their wine," Jack points out.

Brock sputters out a scoff. 

"I couldn't really help that." 

Jack smirks smugly and brushes his nose against Brock's as their mouths meet for a third time. Brock's fingers card through Jack's hair, then twist around some strands of it, as he tilts Jack's head back. His lips ghost over the scar on Jack's chin, which prompts a gasp from him and a sly smile from Brock.

"Not that I don't enjoy kissin' you, but that soup must be ready now huh?" Brock asks. 

Jack steps back and drops his hands to his side. 

"Yeah, better get it before we get carried away again. Take a seat, I'll bring it to you," he replies. 

Brock's hand lingers on his back when he passes by, his touch feeling a little bit _electric_ to Jack. He lets the moment pass and diverts his attention to dishing out the soup, whilst also stealing a glance at Brock now and again. Jack takes some bread he baked fresh in the morning, then cuts a few slices for them to have on the side, fully satisfied by the _crunching_ sound it makes. The aroma from the soup hits his nose in waves and it leaves him with a nostalgic feeling, one of the many things that makes him appreciate food so much. 

Brock is looking out of the kitchen window when Jack approaches the breakfast bar, balancing the bowls, wine glasses and wine bottle in his arms. He looks relaxed, which Jack stands back to admire for a moment. A flash of lightning illuminates his face and if Jack weren't balancing a bunch of food in his arms he'd consider staying there for the rest of the night, just to admire him. Brock's eyes widen in alarm when he notices him, but Jack brushes it off as he sets everything down, without spilling _anything._

"How the fuck?" he guffaws. 

"I used to wait tables before opening the bakery." 

A loud laugh follows.

"Of course ya' did. You're a wonder, Jack." 

Jack raises an eyebrow.

"That better be a compliment." 

Brock props his chin upon his hand and smiles.

"Nothin' but compliments for you, big guy." 

"Suck up," Jack chides. 

"That's rich coming from the guy who wanted to kiss me as soon as I stepped through the door," Brock retorts. 

Jack gently kicks him under the breakfast bar and starts to fill their wine glasses up. 

"It was _not_ like that," he chuckles. 

Brock smirks. 

"Close enough," he says, as he spoons some soup into his mouth.

Jack shakes his head before he swallows a mouthful of wine.

"How's the soup?" 

Brock's eyes flicker to Jack's.

"It's delicious." 

Jack stares back at him skeptically because he tends to underestimate himself once too often. 

"Seriously Jack, I've never tasted soup this good. And this bread pairs with it really well." 

He hooks his foot around Jack's ankle, his smile bright and affectionate. 

"The company is an added bonus too," he adds. 

Jack lifts his hand to cup Brock's neck and kisses him tenderly, before he pulls away. 

"Stay with me tonight," Jack murmurs with an imploring look. "...in my bed I mean," he says

Brock's hand falls on Jack's thigh and squeezes warmly. 

"Was plannin' on it anyway," Brock whispers. 

* * *

The power cuts out for the third time around 1am; Jack barely slept because of his back anyway. He's resting back against the headboard with a book in his hand, with Brock lying beside him, as he strokes his hands through his hair. Brock lets out a sigh and turns his head to look up at Jack, his eyes weary with sleep. He's been trying to get back to sleep after waking up the first time, but he seems to be having the same troubles as Jack is. 

"Can't sleep?" Jack asks. 

Brock trails his hand up and down Jack's side at a slow pace.

"Too much noise from this storm." 

His face is partially lit by the candles Jack set up around the room, casting a warm glow on his face, which makes Jack's chest tighten a little. He really got to know Brock a lot earlier while they ate and drank, now he feels stupidly closer to him. Jack hasn't had anyone stay at his house in a long time, nevermind in his _actual_ bed. Something's different about Brock, he's outgoing as well as charismatic, but the side Jack is seeing now seems so calm and loving. 

"My back is still killin' me," he says. 

"You want me to massage it for you?"

Jack smiles thoughtfully then pushes himself off the bed. 

"I have a better idea. Wait here?" 

"Don't be too long," Brock replies. 

Jack leans across the bed to kiss Brock. 

"Don't fall asleep while I'm gone." 

Brock shoves him away gently with a grin. 

"Go," he scoffs. 

After he grabs his phone, Jack heads out into the hallway, using the light from his phone to guide the way. The bell on Živa's collar jingles when he starts to walk downstairs, before she rushes past him in a flurry. 

"I'm not feedin' you sweetheart, you've had dinner already," he says. 

Živa winds her way between his legs, purring loudly. 

"I'll give you a treat but that's it, then we're goin' back to bed," Jack huffs out. 

Jack drops a few treats for Živa into her bowl and digs out the box out of the fridge that he'd packed from the bakery. He scoops Živa up in his free hand, then makes his way back upstairs to his room, where Brock is sitting upright in the bed now. Brock looks up from his phone and smiles when he spots Jack, then glances over at Živa. 

"You brought company." 

Živa is deposited on Brock's lap as Jack sits down beside him, still cradling the box in his hands. 

"She heard me going downstairs. I think she thought I was feeding her again but I gave her treats instead." 

Brock laughs. 

"So what'd you bring?" 

Jack opens the lid of the box. 

"Some goods from the bakery that didn't sell." 

"Consider me interested," Brock hums. 

"Of course food gets you that way," Jack snorts. 

"I _love_ food, Jackie. Can you blame me?" he argues. 

Jack's shoulder brushes Brock's when he leans into his side more. 

"No, because I can relate," he answers.

He reaches into the box and takes out a slice of pie, before holding it up to Brock's mouth. 

"Is that apple pie?" 

Jack nods. 

"Polish apple pie, called _Szarlotka_. It's a little different to American apple pie." 

Brock takes a bite then elicits a noise of approval. 

"Holy shit, that's amazin'. Forget your typical apple pie, I'd eat that one." 

Jack's heart swells. 

"You like it?" 

"Jack-" Brock pauses to take Jack's hand in his. "You're really talented. It's your craft. Are you doubtin' yourself?" he questions. 

"It happens a lot," Jack answers, with a shrug. 

"Don't. I mean what I'm sayin'. I'll try everythin' you make just to prove it." 

Jack chuckles softly.

"You'll get sick eatin' that much cake and pie," he says.

Brock plucks a square of cake out of the box. 

"What's this?" 

Jack grabs an identical slice out of it too. 

"Try it and see." 

He watches Brock intently as he eats the cake, before the realisation crosses over his face, his eyes lighting up immediately. 

"Génoise cake!" Brock exclaims. 

"Sure is." 

Brock grabs Jack's face in his hands and kisses him, with a faint hint of the cake still fresh on his lips. 

"Jack, it's delicious," he comments. 

Jack sighs and leans in for another kiss, the cake slice in his hand now a mere afterthought, as he rests his hand on Brock's knee. They part shortly after, breathing heavily, before Brock flashes him a pleased grin. 

"You're a distraction y'know that?" 

"A good one I hope," Jack replies, while he brushes his thumb over Brock's bottom lip. 

Brock's breath hitches. 

"Fuckin' right you are." 

Jack smirks coyly and moves away a tad before he holds up a profiterole and offers it to him. Brock bites into it, but keeps his eyes trained on Jack, which has Jack's eyes darkening a little. Of course, Brock gets some of the cream filling on the corner of his mouth, prompting Jack to wipe it with his finger. He brings the cream up to his mouth to lick it off and watches with delight at the _look_ Brock gives him. 

"If I didn't have a cat sleepin' on me right now I'd be all over you," he mutters. 

Jack rolls his eyes. 

"She's not goin' to hate you for shooin' her off the bed," he drawls.

Brock glances down at Živa as Jack scritches her ear. 

"Živa, you gotta' go to bed sweetheart." 

Živa perks up instantly then moves off the bed and slinks out of the bedroom quietly. 

"She's unreal," Brock snickers. 

Jack turns his attention back to Brock as he places the bakery box to the side. 

"You seriously talk too much." 

Before Brock gets a chance to reply, Jack pushes him down on the bed and hovers over him. His hands slide down Brock's ribs and stop at the waistband of his sweatpants, as he teases his fingers underneath it. Brock swallows thickly before he lifts his hips slightly, allowing Jack to pull them off, then throw them across the room. He sits back to tug his shirt off, promptly giving Brock a show of toned body, as his muscles flex under his movements. Brock's eyes roam over him slowly, until he decides to follow suit and yanks his own sweater off hastily. Jack grins with a bit of an alluring aura around him, which Brock lets him know about by glancing at Jack's still clothed lower half. 

"Off." 

Jack raises an eyebrow at him, grabs Brock's ankle and yanks him down, drawing a surprised yelp out of him. 

"Take them off yourself," he whispers hoarsely. 

Brock's hands slide under Jack's sweatpants and push them down before he grabs a handful of Jack's ass afterward. Jack sighs as he worms the sweatpants down further, then kicks them off the bed, his eyes never straying from Brock's. He places his hands on Brock's knees to push them apart and situate himself between Brock's legs, only to have Brock stop him in his tracks. Jack stares at Brock with an intensity that speaks larger than words; Brock simply smirks about it instead. 

He hooks an arm and a leg around Jack, then leans up and nudges his knee against Jack's waist. Jack seems to catch on as he moves fluidly to roll himself onto his back, all while bringing Brock along with him. Brock's above him now, flicking some of his hair away from his face, before he runs his hands down Jack's chest. Jack's lips part around an exhale, his hands caressing up Brock's thighs and his hips. He drops his gaze to watch Brock's abs ripple under the touches, mostly from a sharp inhale that he draws in. He looks _fucking_ gorgeous above him, and Jack's mind is so fuzzy that he can barely think of what to do next. 

Brock relieves that choice for him by rolling his hips, the movement creating a pleasurable amount of pressure down on his dick. Jack's fingers dig into Brock's hips a little as he reciprocates, hips canting upward in a slow grind, which Brock responds to eagerly. Jack moves one hand around to rest on Brock's lower back, before he dips a finger between his crease, teasing it over his hole. A moan slips out as Brock's thighs tighten around Jack's waist and he smooths his hands down the tattoos on Jack's left pec and right side. He leans down to coax Jack into a searing kiss, nipping at his bottom lip which makes Jack smirk and kiss back just as fervently. 

A slicked finger suddenly sinks inside Brock with ease, startling a gasp out of him as he rocks back on Jack's finger. There's a lot of _when_ and _how_ , but that's pushed aside when Jack works another finger in, right down to the knuckle. Brock opens up easily for him because Jack's being entirely gentle and attentive, his thumb pressing lightly on Brock's perineum as he does so. A spark of pleasure shoots up Brock's spine, causing his back to bow and his eyes to fall shut. 

" _Ah_ , fuck. _Right there_ , Jackie." 

"Yeah?" Jack hums, as he squeezes his other hand on Brock's thigh. 

Brock nods meekly.

" _Yes,_ " he sighs wistfully. 

Jack slides a third finger in on the next stroke inside, engrossed in the way Brock is slowly coming undone. He angles his wrist a little, as he brushes the tips of his fingers over Brock's prostate and revels in the throaty moan that Brock chokes out. 

"Fuckin' hell Jack, I _want_ you," Brock groans.

Jack smiles up at him.

"I've got you." 

He removes his fingers, much to Brock's disappointment, then bends his knees to give himself some leverage. Brock grabs the lube and puts a generous amount in his hand, before he reaches back to take Jack's dick in his hand. Jack bites back a moan as Brock lines himself up comfortably, his hips rocking back gingerly. Jack's hands grip his hips tight before he guides Brock down and pushes his dick past the tight ring of muscle. Brock tries desperately to hold back a whimper, but fails in doing so as his head lolls back, exposing the flush that's spread down his neck. 

Jack stares at him with some sense of _awe_ , lips parting around a shaky breath before he continues easing inside. He bottoms out with a loud groan and drops his hands to Brock's thighs, which are trembling a bit. Brock grinds his hips down in earnest before he places his hands on Jack's knees to steady himself and lean back on Jack's thighs. Jack thrusts upward in one smooth movement, making Brock's body jolt a little and drag a sweet moan from him. 

" _Jack_ …" 

Jack's grip tightens even further. 

"Fuck, I need to-" 

Brock tips his head forward as a few mused strands of hair fall over his forehead. 

"Please." 

He gets pushed onto the mattress on his back, laughing breathily, before Jack poises over him with a grin. He kisses Brock then, it's tender but passionate at the same time. It speaks the most volume in that moment, as he spreads Brock's legs and moves into the space between them. Jack lifts him slightly and sinks back into the tight heat, relishing in the squeeze of Brock's thighs on his waist when he presses in deep. One hand remains on Brock's hip while the other moves to his hair, before Jack threads his fingers through it and tugs gently. Brock tilts his head back, baring his neck to Jack, who leans in to kiss down his neck until he reaches his chest. 

Jack's pace is slow, to begin with, his hips rocking forward steadily, as Brock gets his arms around Jack and digs his fingers into his back. It picks up gradually from a slow and punishing pace to a fast and rough one. Brock kisses him briefly then pulls away; panting against Jack's mouth with warm and ragged breathing. His entire body feels like it's aching, he wants Jack impossibly close, he needs _more._ It must show on his face as Jack shifts, pushes Brock's thighs up closer to his body, and hooks Brock's legs over his shoulders. He rocks in, fast and deep, punching the air out of Brock's lungs as he shakes under Jack. Jack's hands come up to grasp Brock's wrists before he pins them down on the sheets, which Brock buries his fingers into. 

"Holy fuck, you feel so good," Jack growls.

Jack begins to fuck Brock harder, his thrusts are powerful yet hasty as his hips hit against the bare skin of Brock's ass, the sound echoing in the room. Brock cries out and throws his head back as his eyes closed tightly shut. Jack's lips brush over his eyelid, featherlight like he barely touched it before he wipes his thumb over the wetness on Brock's lashes. 

"Jack, I'm gonna-" Brock pauses and chokes wetly on his words. 

Jack's hand cups Brock's jaw as he leans down to kiss him chastely, his knuckles caressing over Brock's cheekbone. 

"Whenever you want, sweetheart," he murmurs softly. 

He lets go of one of Brock's wrists so he can get his hand around his dick, timing the strokes to the pace of Jack's thrusts. Brock's breathing becomes laboured and Jack's hips start to stutter, as he chases that edge to sate their needs. Jack groans low and drawn out, hips snapping forward a few times before he stills completely with his face buried in the crook of Brock's neck. Brock comes over his stomach with a shaky moan, thighs trembling and muscles tensing as he goes through the aftershocks. 

Jack's body sags onto Brock's, as he wraps his arm around him while they catch their breaths. Jack turns his head to press a kiss to Brock's jaw and slides his hand up to Brock's, entwining their fingers together. Brock strokes his hand up Jack's back, then bumps their foreheads together, before angling his head to kiss him. It's lazy and unhurried, as Jack caresses his free hand down Brock's thigh, holding him as close as he can manage. 

They exchange several kisses afterward and start to wind down from the adrenaline rushing through them. Jack gets a damp towel from the en-suite to clean up, he'd shower but exhaustion is beginning to take hold of him now. Brock looks very much the same as he elicits a loud yawn, stretches himself out of the bed, then glances over at Jack. He pats the empty space on the bed and smiles fondly at him, eyes shining in the light from the candles. 

"I dunno' 'bout you, but I'm exhausted," Brock says. 

Jack nods and lays out on the bed beside Brock. 

"Sex does that to you." 

Brock snorts as he turns on his side, letting his fingers dance up Jack's arm. 

"Yeah, you can say that again for sure," he breathes out. 

Jack's knuckles brush over Brock's cheek before he slides his hand into his hair. 

"You're stunnin'." 

A shy laugh bursts out of Brock as he averts his gaze elsewhere. 

"Now _you're_ being a suck up." 

"Maybe. I just...want you to know that I've enjoyed your company. I'm glad we got the chance to meet," Jack replies.

"Even if it's somethin' as typical as a thunderstorm and me just _happenin'_ to take a different route that led me here?" 

Jack laughs.

"Yeah, I'd have taken any kinda' scenario if it meant meetin' you, sweetheart," he hums. 

"Sweetheart? Is that my thing now?" Brock teases. 

Jack's gaze holds strong with Brock's. 

"If you want it to be." 

Brock cups Jack's jaw and finds himself touching Jack's scar again, he _loves_ that scar. 

"I do," he says. 

Jack's lips find Brock's for an intimate kiss, his fingers carding through Brock's hair gently. He pulls back after a few minutes and glances out the window, where the thunder has stopped, leaving only a light drizzle of rain behind. 

"Looks like the storm is dyin' down." 

Brock yawns again. 

"Time to finally get some shut eye huh?" 

"Christ, yes please," Jack mutters, as he props his head up on a pillow. 

He draws Brock in close to him and presses a kiss to his forehead before he pulls the comforter up over them for warmth. 

"Goodnight sweetheart." 

Brock hums happily, tucks his face in the crook of Jack's neck then rests his hand warmly on Jack's side

"Goodnight big guy." 

Jack waits patiently for Brock's breathing evens out, eventually dozing off himself to the sound of the rain and the contentment of Brock's touch. 

* * *

It's been a couple of weeks since Jack's first meeting with Brock; a night he hasn't stopped thinking about. They've been texting and calling when they can, but Jack can't deny that he misses Brock. His hopes have been dwindling the further the days pass by, thinking that it was going somewhere, that he'd found something special. Now it feels like it was only a casual fling, or that Brock's simply _not interested._ Jack doesn't get much time to dwell on it anyway, the bakery is far too busy, especially after he'd announced new creations coming into the store. 

"Hey Bucky, have you checked on the muffins?" 

Bucky and Sam were filling the display cases while Jack was writing specials out on the board, trying to keep his mind clear from the sour thoughts in his head. 

"Oh fuck," he curses, while he hurries into the back room. 

Thankfully, none of the few customers they have in the bakery heard his outburst, yet Bucky had managed to keep the volume of it low. Sam snorts from behind the display and closes the case door over before he looks over at Jack. 

"He had _one_ job." 

Jack shrugs.

"It happens." 

Sam places some trays to the side and crosses his arms loosely over his chest. 

"What's goin' on, man? You're lookin' a little blue these days." 

"It's nothin'," Jack mumbles, as he breaks another stick of chalk and grunts in frustration. 

"Jack, talk to me," Sam says. 

Jack sighs. 

"Brock and I have been keepin' in contact for the past few weeks. But it feels like nothin' is happening out of it. I thought-" he pauses, then shakes his head. 

Sam's hand squeezes firmly on Jack's shoulder. 

"You know, I didn't ask Riley out for a month after we met. It wasn't because we weren't interested, life just got in the way. Being in contact with him through texts was enough until I finally got the chance to make a move," he explains. 

Jack's shoulders sag as he leans against the counter. 

"What I'm sayin' is don't give up hope, these things will work out." 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Jack's mouth. 

"Thanks, Sam." 

"So uh...the muffins aren't great. I'll make a new batch," Bucky interjects. 

Jack shakes his head and meanders over to the back room.

"It's fine, I'll get it. Everyone will miss your charming smile if you're hidin' in here baking." 

Bucky shoves at his shoulder playfully. 

"The customers love me!" 

"Only when you aren't burnin' muffins." 

Sam bends over, wheezing out a laugh as Bucky throws his arms in the air and walks away to attend to a customer. Jack chooses that moment to disappear into the back room, leaving Sam and Bucky to their own devices, while he tries to fix the burnt muffin mess. He turns some music on to relax before he fetches ingredients to make a new batch of muffins, which will _not_ be burnt this time. 

Jack tosses flour into a bowl, moves it around a little with his hand, then puts in cocoa powder, chopped dark chocolate, white chocolate pieces and sugar in quick succession. His flour-covered fingers stain the side of the bowl a little; Jack pays no mind to it though. He can't focus on anything other than Brock, and it's beginning to throw Jack into a bit of a loop because he's _never_ felt like this. His vision blurs, but Jack simply wipes his eyes on his sleeve, as he tries to clear his throat only to have it come out choked. 

"Jack?" 

He straightens up abruptly at the sound of Brock's voice, bangs his head on a pan hanging above his head and hisses loudly. 

"Ow, shit," Jack grunts. 

"Are we havin' another meet-ugly?" 

Jack smiles shakily as he rubs the back of his head.

"Just my luck huh?" he murmurs. 

Brock's eyes narrow a little. 

"Your friends let me come through here I-" he pauses and steps further into the room. "...have you been cryin'?" he asks. 

"I'm fine." 

Brock shakes his head in disbelief. 

"Bullshit. Jackie, what's wrong?" 

Jack sighs and rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. 

"What are we exactly?" 

Brock's shoulders tensed slightly. 

"Back up a little Jack. What are ya' sayin'?" 

"For fucks sake. I missed you, okay? Just, all we've done since we first met is text and call. I thought I was droppin' hints about _us_. I dunno', maybe I was bein' too forward and I'm sorry. Then you were silent for a while and I-I figured maybe I'd fucked up somehow," Jack rambles. 

"I see," Brock says.

He takes a step closer to Jack, hands tucked into his pockets before he stopped in front of him. 

"Listen, you remember I told you 'bout my friend Tony and his fiance Bruce? I was at the wedding last week, it was a destination wedding, on an island. The reception was so shitty there, but I was sendin' you messages...thinkin' that they'd gone through," he explains, while he fishes out his phone. 

Brock holds the phone up to Jack and sure enough, right there on the screen are five messages, one of which says they should _talk_ when he gets back. Jack groans then drops his hands to his side, before he glances at Brock with an apologetic look.

"God, I'm an idiot," he replies.

Brock's mouth twitches briefly. 

"Yeah, you are. Jack, you dumb son of a bitch, I'm crazy 'bout you!" 

" _Woo!_ " Bucky cheers from the doorway.

Jack lobs a burnt muffin at his head. 

" _Fuck off_." 

Bucky snorts and disappears from view as Jack looks back at Brock. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed anything." 

Brock smiles at him intently. 

"Don't. I could've said somethin' before I left the wedding. We make mistakes, but it's okay. But...look, are you free tonight?" 

"I might be. Why?" Jack questions. 

"Go out with me. I mean-come have drinks with me. Food too! We can't not have food and- _ah_ shit. I had a whole thing planned on what to say, now I'm fuckin' it up and I look like an ass I-" Brock stops suddenly as his words are cut off. 

Jack's lips were on his in seconds, tender and chaste, while he cupped Brock's face in both hands. Bits of flour gets stuck on Brock's skin as it gets smeared over his stubbled jaw, his chin, then up to where his hair stops at the nape of his neck. Brock hums into it, hands grasping Jack's apron before he presses his body closer. Jack pulls away from the kiss but Brock surges in for more, which Jack responds to in kind.

"I'm fuckin' crazy 'bout you too," he confesses, when they eventually part. 

Brock chuckles breathily. 

"You didn't answer my question though," he chides. 

Jack grins warmly. 

"I'm free tonight." 

Brock's face lights up with relief. 

"So can I interest ya' in a date then?" 

Jack leans in to peck Brock's cheek. 

"Yes." 

A sigh escapes from Brock. 

"You've got no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, big guy." 

Jack rests his forehead against Brock's. 

"Likewise, sweetheart," he drawls, softly.

He strokes his thumb over Brock's hip where his hand is resting on Brock's lower back. 

"So...can I interest you in _me_ teachin' you some baking?" Jack asks, staring at Brock hopefully. 

Brock's lips find his again to steal one final, lingering kiss. 

"I'd love to."


End file.
